


A Thief In The Night

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:50:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius hears of something utterly new to him from Jehan and Grantaire, and later, touches himself to the very thought. Some Marius/Montparnasse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thief In The Night

"Ah, and where has our good friend Combeferre gotten to!?" Grantaire asked, elbowing Prouvaire in the side as he came to sit with the poet and Marius, disturbing Prouvaire’s cards and putting the deck out of place to splay artfully across the wood of the table. "Our dear leader seems so bereft without his second at his side!"

Jehan huffed, picking up his cards with rapid, dainty fingers. Grantaire spoke the truth, though: Combeferre was not to be seen, and when Marius turned he only saw Courfeyrac at Enjolras’ side, the brunet and the blond talking seriously as they looked down at the series of pamphlets Feuilly had just finished illustrating.

Marius turned back, and noticed, quietly, that Grantaire’s gaze lingered on Enjolras’ form. He liked Grantaire’s face when he looked at Enjolras, liked the way he looked at Enjolras when he thought no one would see him. Grantaire’s face was ugly, but when he looked at their leader, he looked positively enchanted, his lips parted with a curve to their ugly, chappe form.

"No doubt somewhere and with someone he will not mention to his mother when they breakfast together this Sunday." Jehan said, and Grantaire laughed, the sound hoarse and as ugly as his countenance but remaining mirthful. Marius blinked at the both of them, perplexed.

”What do you mean, Jehan?” Marius asked softly, and Prouvaire looked at him, his pretty eyes shining with amusement. 

"Why, he will be off-" He regarded Marius’ confusion with sudden understanding. "Oh, you don’t know. Oh, Grantaire, he does not  _know_!”

"What don’t I know?" Grantaire laughed again and now leaned forwards, grinning at Marius with his yellowed teeth and his uneven eyes. 

"Why, Combeferre is a sodomite, Marius. He will be in some dark little bar in some  _dark_  little alleyway, quite hopefully to find a dark young man. He prefers brunets, does he not?”

"I believe he does." Prouvaire nodded, and Marius stared between the both of them, his eyes as wide and baffled as ever.

"A sodomite?" He repeated. "Whatever is that?"

Grantaire’s guffaw was raucous, and Prouvaire’s giggles were hidden behind his head: he went a blushing red, and he looked sweet despite the subject.

"What? What is it?"

Enjolras came over, a strong hand of his on Marius’ shoulder as he looked severely between Jehan and Grantaire. “Are you harassing Marius again? He’s merely a  _boy,_ you needn’t be so cruel-” Marius was ready to protest (he was neither a boy nor being bullied, after all), but Grantaire got there first.

"You ought to tell your radiant centre he does not educate his charge well enough!" Grantaire said and he  _winked_  at Enjolras in the lascivious fashion he usually reserved for Louison as she passed him by. “Marius is inquiring after a definition of  _sodomite_. Do  _you_  know, my good man? Perhaps you ought tell him.”

Enjolras’ marble cheeks between the colour of newly bloomed roses, the rush of blood to his cheeks and lips sudden. “Grantaire, you are a  _sordid_  man.”

"I am." Grantaire agreed sweetly, and Enjolras stalked back across the room. Grantaire’s gaze lingered on his back, and while his cohort was distracted, Jehan caught Marius’ attention again. 

"A sodomite, my good man, is one who lays with other men." Marius stared at him. "You know, as one would lay with a lady."

"Can such a thing be done?" Marius asked, absolutely taken aback, and he thought of Combeferre in a new light. His eyes went wide. 

"Of course such a thing can be  _done_ , Marius.” Grantaire said, looking bemused and fond as he patted the younger man’s hand. Grantaire’s own hands were lovely things, tanned and flecked with paint, but strong with dextrous fingers, and his nails were well-groomed and not yellow like his teeth. “It is just as easy for a man to take another in his mouth as it is for a woman.”

"A mouth?" Marius repeated, as if the thought were utterly new to him, and indeed, it was. He had been given the bare bones of education, and whilst he knew of members and the parts of a woman, how they interlocked (and knew how his own member felt, were he to take it in his hand in the dead of night), he knew little else.

"Yes, Marius, a  _mouth_.” Grantaire said, chuckling a little against the lip of his bottle. “And while a man possesses not the entrance a woman does, it is hardly necessary to the best of acts. One can  _frot_.”

"Mmm." Jehan agreed delightedly, and when Marius shook his head, perplexed, the poet continued, "Ah, one rubs against one’s partner, their members together."

"Or side by side." Grantaire interjected helpfully, and Marius swallowed, trying to consider such an act.

"And one can always just enter the other way." Marius blinked at him.

"The other way?" Why, what other way was there? Did he possess some secret orifice like a woman’s he knew not of?

"The backway." Jehan said simply, and Marius tilted his head before he suddenly understood.

"But isn’t it  _dirty!?_ ”

"Combeferre is a medical man." Grantaire said dryly, obviously taking pleasure in Marius’ abject shock. "He knows of dirtier things than these, and yet this is his favourite." 

"One bends a partner over a surface, or lies them out on their back, and then one prepares them with oil and fingers. Start with one, end with at least three, and then slick up one’s member in the same fashion and thrust in." Jehan said, talking anatomically, clinically, as if Marius wasn’t as bright pink as the bacon Courfeyrac had cooked that morning.

"Why, doesn’t it hurt?"

"Not when done correctly." Grantaire gave the filthiest of little chuckles. "And I bet Combeferre does it well!" And then he and Jehan were laughing together again. "But no, there’s another, where one slicks a partner’s inner thighs with the same oil, and to fuck the press of that flesh."

"And one can put one’s tongue to the entrance-"

"Ah, yes, or to the nipples!" Marius’ head was  _spinning_ with new thoughts at all these possibilities, his cheeks red as Jehan and Grantaire talked on and on, at length.

He walked home in a new daze, thinking on it, and was distracted from his studies. When he retired to his own bed, he lay naked beneath the sheets, and he slowly put his hand, with its pretty, slender fingers, to his member, wrapping around it.

He grew hard, and he closed his eyes, lashes thick; he let out a quiet noise as he thumbed over the head of his member. Is this how one was meant to touch another cock?

Marius had never fantasized in bed before, considering only  _sensation_ , but now he had more things to consider. To consider his darling Ursule would be to debase her, and thinking of his friends was mostly strange. Courfeyrac had gone out, leaving Marius alone to touch himself, and initially, Marius considered him, but no, Courfeyrac could never enjoy Marius in such a way - how could Pontmercy attract a man so popular?

Combeferre didn’t even  _like_ Marius, but then, Grantaire had said he liked brunets, had he not? Marius thought of Combeferre, of his strong, capable hands and his oftentimes stern expression, of his face and his hair, of- No, that wouldn’t do at all: it was far too strange. _  
_

Marius’ mind wandered, and one pretty face came to mind. Marius did not really _know_  Montparnasse - he had seen her about with Éponine, several times, knew the dandy’s name and little else, but Montparnasse…

Montparnasse was gorgeous. Far, far prettier than Marius, and much better dressed, and even though he would undoubtedly never stoop to Marius’ level, Marius could still picture it. He could picture Montparnasse straddling him, laying kisses across Marius’ jaw with his pretty, pretty lips-

Marius closed his eyes, and thought of the dandy bending him over his desk, pressing oil-slick fingers into him as Grantaire and Jehan had said - God, to feel those inside him, feel  _full_ , fucked into like a  _woman!_

Marius let out a quiet whine, bucking his hips up and into his own hand as he continued to think, the fantasy washing over him and setting his very skin alight. Montparnasse’s  _member_  within him, dear God above, Montparnasse’s beautiful curves and his hips and his charming thighs, all against Marius’ as he slid forwards and  _thrust_  into Marius, why, he would be such a warm weight on Marius’ back, rutting into him like a hound on a bitch-

His next moan was breathless, and Marius  _came_ , gasping in breaths as he thrust into his own hand, the white slick on his hand. He was stiff and saw _white_  behind his eyes, convulsing and letting out loud noises, and then he went limp, breathing heavily.

 He grasped at a handkerchief from his bedside, wiping the wet away, and set it aside before turning, lying with his cheek on the pillow and his back to the window, which let in moonlight (Marius was still too shy to close Courfeyrac’s shutters without permission).

The door opened, and Courfeyrac came inside, offering a small grin to Marius where he lay. “Abed already?”

"I was tired." Marius lied, and Courfeyrac nodded.

"So Grantaire tells me, I’ve not educated you!" He joked, and Marius chuckled a little, although his cheeks flushed red (he had only just-) with embarrassment.

"Is it true?" Marius asked after a pause, whilst Courfeyrac undid his cravat and laid it aside.

"Hmm?"

"Combeferre. Is he a sodomite?" Courfeyrac regarded Marius with furrowed brows.

"You think less of him for it?"

"Not at all, sir." Marius said seriously, and Courfeyrac hummed.

"So he is." He allowed eventually, the pause between Marius’ words and his answer a lengthy one. "Yes."

"Is- Do you know of Montparnasse? Is he a-" Courfeyrac snorted.

"You don’t think he and Combeferre are involved?" Marius spluttered.

"No, no, I just-"

"I do not know. Montparnasse is a thief in the night: his proclivities are unknown to a man such as I. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I just wondered." Marius mumbled as Courfeyrac crossed the room to pull the shutters closed.

"You do a lot of wondering, don’t you, mon ami?"

"Yes." Marius answered truthfully, and Courfeyrac chuckled. Affectionately, he knelt at the head of Marius’ mattress, ruffling his hair in a fraternal fashion.

"I’d be careful. Jehan will have a poet of you!" Courfeyrac warned, teasing, and Marius’ giggle was soft, but there. 

"Sleep well, Courfeyrac." Marius said, and his thoughts returned to Montparnasse, and the other man chuckled.

"I will, my darling man: you sleep well too."


End file.
